Charlene and I order Clouds and Mist tea and I ask for a vegan Ding Dong.

The waiter has bleached white hair and plugs in his ears. When he brings the tea, he says, “Don’t let it steep too long or it will get bitter.” The tea floats in a hand-tied bag. I point at the chocolate Ding Dong. “I know you’re going to help me with this.”

“You’re just trying to get me to eat.”

“Caught me,” I confess as I taste it.

Charlene picks up the other fork and begins eating.

“You laugh occasionally. You’re getting through it.”

She tilts her head and narrows her eyes slightly. “I didn’t realize. There’re moments now, split seconds, when I don’t think of him. When I don’t imagine him hanging on the rod or remember the look in his eyes when he said I was a good mom. And Adam, well, he’s been so difficult with his depression and insisting it should have been him and his drinking that I’m worn out.” She stirs her tea. “He may have turned a corner, though. He likes this new therapist and he’s attending AA meetings. And he loves being with horses.”

“It’s only been seven months. Not even a year.”

“I dread this Christmas and New Year’s. And his birthday in February.”

“Don’t pretend nothing is different. Talk about him.”

“We can’t help it.” She stabs another bite of cake but forgets to eat it. “I thought I’d light a candle that represents him so we acknowledge his spirit is with us.”

I nod. “Want me to come for some of it? Depending on whether Tara’s baby obeys his due date, I could come on Christmas Eve. Drive home in the morning.”

“Would you?”

“If I can … Not sure yet when Sky and Troy will be here, either.”

“I can’t cry with my kids, it scares them as though they’ve lost both Luke and me. As though I’ll be crying forever.” She chews on the inside of her lip and her eyes fill. “Diane is determined to enjoy everything teenagers are supposed to, parties, dates, football games. Most of the time she’s off with her friends. I guess that’s her way to handle it. Once when I was crying, Adam asked me if I wanted to go be with Luke. ‘Not yet. Not now,’ I told him, but I wonder if his depression is his way to be with Luke. Or his way to keep me here.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“There’s nothing for me to do but plod on through. Somehow.” She stops and closes her lips and sits there as though listening to the flute music playing in the background. Baskets of philodendron hang in the window from macramé holders.

“Shit. I don’t know how to help you, either.”